Profession
by KylieAyn
Summary: Most Potterheads grew up in time with the characters and are experiencing adulthood now. But the story doesn't know that, so when Ingrid Matthews gets sucked into the series, she's surprised to be surrounded by the fifteen-year-old versions of her favourite wizards. How will she survive the teenagers and magical war she's loved without being on equal standing with them?


A/N: Hello everyone! I am trying out this fanfic again, though with massive changes to the OC. I am really optimistic about keeping up with this one, and hope you all enjoy!

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 _It takes twenty hours to watch the entire Harry Potter series, including the time it takes to switch out the DVDs. So, if I switch shifts with someone tomorrow, and I'm off the next two days for classes, which were cancelled, I can marathon all eight movies and get in a sleep day before I have to be at work again on Friday. Yeah, yeah that's doable_ …

"Ingrid, you're gonna overflow."

"What? Shit!" I jumped, whipping hair into my mouth and whipped cream all over my hands. Setting down the canister I was using to fluff the top of some bald businessman's coffee order, I tried to clean up the mess I'd made, to no avail.

"Remake it," Jessica, my boss, commanded, giving me a stern look. I grinned sheepishly and grabbed another Venti cup.

After another six hours of coffee-scented hell, and getting Tre to cover my shift tomorrow as long as I take his on Saturday, I finally threw off my apron and biked home. I raced into my tiny flat, nearly knocking down my roommate, Claire, at the entryway. She barely noticed my arrival as she ghosted down the hall to her girlfriend's. I barely noticed that she wasn't wearing anything but the other girl's jersey.

"Okay so I'm starting at quarter past seven, so that puts me at ending around three o'clock tomorrow…I can put a pizza in the oven during Harry's broken wrist in _Chamber of Secrets_ and then get it out and prepare it during the Aragog scene, so then I don't have to watch those parts…Follow the fuckin' spiders…" I mumbled to myself as I changed out of my work shirt and into a slouchy tee. I didn't bother with stepping out of my jeans—I was more than a week into laundry procrastination and wasn't about to give in now. Likewise, I was too lazy to even kick off my boots as I flopped onto the big green armchair in my room; I was just ready to be off my feet. I was tempted to watch in bed, but I knew that if I laid down I would definitely fall asleep during the marathon. At least now I'd be semi-erect, plus I could pull over a TV-tray to put my laptop on to watch from. I'd figure out the pizza plate vs. laptop challenge when I get to it.

 _"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"Promise you'll write this summer—both of you?"_

 _"Well I won't. You know I won't."_

 _"Harry will. Won't you?"_

 _"Yeah, every week."_

Laughter. Ending theme.

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I barely remember switching out _Goblet of Fire_ for _Order of the Phoenix_. I don't know when I fell asleep or if I was even awake now. Skip to menu. Play. Smokey WB logo and whispered Parseltongue. Opening theme. Unconsciousness.

"I don't know about you, but it's just too hot today, and it's going to get even worse. Temperatures up in the mid-30's Celsius, that's the mid-90's Fahrenheit. Tomorrow's even maybe hitting a hundred, so—"

A muffled radioman voice wakes me up. I reach out blindly for the mute button on my computer. I can tell with my eyes shut that it's way too bright in here. My hand find air. Groaning, I stretch against my armchair, but I can't get far because instead of the worn plush I'm used to, there's stiff wood. I rub my eyes hard before finally cracking one open. The tray with my computer and pizza remnants aren't there, and my room is not supposed to be painted yellow.

Where the fuck am I? Gone were my walls of sketches and posters, comfy bed, and packed desk. I glance around at the peeling yellow wallpaper, rickety dresser, and dusty mattress next to the lone rocking chair I'm sitting in. Rising slowly from the chair, sunlight shines directly in my eyes from the window. I rush to the door across the room, which apparently leads to the only other room in this place. A kitchenette, sofa, and the radio I heard before, a table with a couple chairs, all rustic and objectively cute, but in this situation I just felt like I was in a horror movie about rednecks. My heart pounded as I find the front door. _Please don't be locked, please don't be barricaded, please tell me I just got like super drunk somehow and not abducted…Oh thank god it opened_.

I have to shield my eyes from the bright sun as I try surveying the environment around the hut. The grass all around is tall and burnt. It smells just as hot as it feels, the sunlight weighing down on me and cooking my skull under my dark hair. Highway sounds come from my left, and children sounds come from my right. I turn towards the kid sounds. Hopefully there's responsible parents around that can help me find out where the fuck I am.

Down the lane is a playground. Three kids laugh around a merry-go-round, their mum or chaperone walking up to them. I jog across the grass, diagonally, towards the entrance of the play area's chain-link fence. The mum is ushering her kids away, and I can kinda see another boy on the swings alone, and a group of teenage boys heading towards the entrance a bit ahead of me.

The mum had apparently seen the pack before I did, so she was quickly getting her kids out of the park before they could get there. The boy on the swings seemed to not even notice the boys. I wonder if I should steer clear of the park after all. I pick up the pace a little, trying to catch up with the family.

I try to not pay attention to the boys in the playground and just focus on the woman getting farther and farther away, but I can't help peeking at the impending situation. The five boys approaching the swings looked like hooligans, and the swinging boy kind of nerdy. I am I about to turn a blind eye to a fight?

"Hey Big D," the nerdy boy calls. The bigger boy of the group steps forward, ignoring the conversation and chuckles of his bros. "Beat up another ten-year-old?"

Oh great, they are definitely gonna waste this kid. I finally reach the fence's entrance, and I slow to a shuffle, quietly observing. There's no way I can catch up with the woman anyway.

"This one deserved it," Big D replies. His boys think so too. I think his voice is on the wrong side of puberty.

"Five against one, that's great."

"Well you're one to talk, moaning in your sleep every night. At least I'm not afraid of my pillow." This draws uproarious laughter from his bros, which just eggs him on. "‛Don't kill Cedric!'"

 _Wait, 'Don't kill Cedric'?_

I don't even care that I'm blatantly staring now. I look, really look, at the teens. The profile of the bully looks scarily familiar, and kind of red, like a prune. The nerdy swing boy wears circular glasses and has short but unruly black hair. He looks almost-but-not-exactly like Daniel Radcliffe.

"Where is your mum, Potter? She dead?"

Harry Potter lunges at Dudley Dursley, wand drawn.

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Thanks for reading guys! I would love and appreciate any constructive criticism you have for me, and generally your thoughts and feelings about the story thus far.


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